


I Do Not Care

by Shadow_Ember



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John Watson is a Saint, Pouty Sherlock, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock is not a sociopath, aka the only one who understands Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Ember/pseuds/Shadow_Ember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock claims to be a sociopath. John knows this to be false. The detective just doesn't understand what caring is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Do Not Care

**Author's Note:**

> Only rated Teen and Up because of a case mentioned and I'm paranoid about it.  
> Unfortunately, I do not own Sherlock (BBC) or any of its characters.  
> Hope you enjoy!

     “John, must I do this?” Sherlock’s voice had adopted a whiny tone that seemed impossible for his deep voice. With the patience of a saint, John waved his childish flat mate away, “Yes, Sherlock. You always make me complete the case records; you can do it for once.”

     Sherlock huffed, but marched to the small records desk in the precinct anyways. The man there, one of small stature and nervous features, seemed to shrink upon his approach. John wondered what Sherlock was saying to him as he stood there, for the man had grown ashen grey. He was probably shaking as he shuffled file folders and papers around his desk.

     Lestrade shook his head in Sherlock’s direction. “I shouldn’t let him get out of doing the case records every time. Technically, it could ruin our evidence.” They both glanced back at the detective, now towering over the man, who was trying to take shelter behind a folder. “And now look at that, he’s scaring my employees.”

     Anderson, who had been flitting about the office, had not stopped watching the detective like a hawk. Overhearing their conversation, he piped up, “First he’ll scare them, then they’ll wind up dead in an alleyway. You shouldn’t trust him with our cases. We’re perfectly capable of handling them.”

     “Perhaps you don’t recall, Phillip, but that man has solved dozens of cases that we were ready to consider closed,” Lestrade retorted, “Honestly, no one knows if we can trust him, but he’s all we got. Unless you’re prepared to tell the parents of young Gwen that we couldn’t find out what happened to her, we’re stuck with him.”

     Anderson flinched. The previous case had not settled well with anyone. Everyone who had worked on the case had seen too much bloodshed and brutality in their lives and become familiar with it; even John, a relatively normal seeming blogger, had been in the army. Nevertheless, no one was prepared to find the mutilated body of a small girl, the fourth victim of a serial killer, in a ditch several weeks ago. It had taken a depressing toll on all of them.

     John found his voice first, “Sherlock isn’t all that bad. He may be disagreeable, but you can trust him.” His chin lifted as he spoke. An odd sort of pride filled him as he defended his flat mate. John always felt no one took the time to know Sherlock. He was certainly much more than an emotionless problem solver.

     “Trust him?” Anderson was incredulous, “The man’s a bloody psychopath!”

     “Sociopath,” Lestrade interjected, “in his own terms.”

     John thought about the tall man. Sociopaths, by definition, were devoid of feeling, specifically guilt. While the man certainly did not understand social norms, as John had found on many occasions when he was forced to interact with clients, he was by no means sociopathic. “I think you may find him to be much more human than you may expect.”

     Lestrade tilted his chin upwards in the gesture of a challenge. He hummed encouragingly, and his expression said, “Prove it.”

     John continued, “In fact, he acts quite like a child,” A smile spread on his face as he thought about it, “There was this one time I tied his shoelaces together while he was in his mind palace. When he jumped up during his deduction, his face happened to make contact with the floor. He wouldn’t speak to me for days.”

     They both chuckled at the image. Even Anderson smiled despite himself. It was then that they noticed the presence of the detective himself. He loomed in their midst, casting a disapproving glance. His observant face was on, and he was no doubt trying to discover what their conversation had been about. John could not help himself from laughing harder.

     Sherlock’s lips pursed, disgruntled. Turning to Lestrade, and being sure to tilt his chin up as well, he spoke, “It seems as though you need to hire better employees, George. Your records manager is close to fainting.” They all turned their heads to see the small man, collapsed into a quivering mass on the desk.

     Lestrade opened his mouth to say something, but closed it at the last second. He shook his head, and pointedly looked at John, “Never mind, he’s your problem.” He opened the folder he was carrying and flipped through its pages.

     Sherlock placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder and pulled him aside. “Why are you talking to them?” His voice was cold.

     John shrugged out of Sherlock’s grip, “And why not?” His voice rose slightly in indignation, “They’re my friends as well.”

     Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “ _Friends_? I could possess some semblance of understanding when it comes to Lestrade, but Anderson of all people-”

     “I can hear you, you know,” the man in question sneered.

     Sherlock shot a glare in the man’s direction. He resumed his blathering, “-is a disgrace, a snake, a thorn among roses.”

     John folded his arms. “I did not think you would care who I consider my friends or not.” In all truth, he did not even consider Anderson his friend. He held as much dislike for him as Sherlock; he just did not exude it to such an ostentatious degree. He lifted an eyebrow, “It would be an incredibly soft trait for you to show, Sherlock.”

     A loss for words was something Sherlock did not usually show. He held a voracious vocabulary, due to his expansive mind palace, which he used to his advantage for both rapid-fire deductions and withering insults. So it was greatly amusing for John to see such a flabbergasted look on Sherlock’s face, as his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

     His brows wrinkled at the comment, and John could see his brain trying to calculate an offhand response that was so very Sherlock. He tilted his head, and his jaw worked slowly as he managed the words, “I do not…care.”

     Behind them, Lestrade and Anderson had been unashamedly listening in on their not-so-secret conversation. At the detective’s dumbfounded response, several barely covered sniggers floated towards the duo.

     John let out a small, amused huff. He clapped the other on the back, “Of course you don’t, Sherlock. Let’s just forget the times you’ve saved my life during our cases,” The sarcasm was unmistakable in his voice, “You definitely do not care.”

     Sherlock’s eyes squinted in annoyance. To John it only looked like he was pouting. “And I regret those times everyday.” Suddenly, he turned with a flourish of his coat, “Come, John, we must be going.”

     He took off without another word, marching determinedly out of the precinct. John turned back to the amused expressions of Lestrade and Anderson. “See? Not as sociopathic as he may seem,” he told them. With one last smile, he waved them goodbye and took off after his childish, emotionally impaired, friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
